And what does it mean to have three birthdays?


The first was when the cosmic egg cracked wide open

and out I came from that quiet and peaceful haven,

floating in liquid freedom and tethered to the source of life.

That was not of my choosing, to leave the sanctuary

of my mother’s womb, to be vulnerable and defenseless,

and to be forced to find my claws and my fangs and horns.


My second birthday came in a piece of paper.

It foretold the eventuality of my passing,

a record of my transgressions to my own person,

a gift that was left behind by one the many bodies

that know my body intimately and, at the same time,

not know what lay underneath the skin and flesh and bone.

Everything eventually but mine might come sooner than most.

The finish line made clear and apparent at the moment

when I just got my second wind.


The third, and maybe not the last birth day, was all fanfare,

bright lights, microphone, applause, warm smiles, genuine concern,

eyes conveying sadness and apologies and sympathy,

and a story that will be repeated over and over again.

It came on a stage, with a speech, and a promise.

Not all birth days is mired in blood and exposed flesh;

some are marked by the tough armour of conviction

and the baring of the soul.


Three different days that I was born anew.

They say the body is but a vessel, a sack of flesh

that houses a spirit or a soul or a life,

(whatever you believe in)

but what is inside roams free, bleeds, burns,

hides, heals, grows, and returns changed,

transformed and renewed.

That’s a birth day too.


This is just but one of many

in a succession of births and deaths

and changes.


What does it mean to have three birthdays?

It means you’ve lived,

you’ve died,

and you have lived again.


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